There's no black and white, left and right to me anymore; there's only up and down and down is very close to the ground. And I'm trying to go up without thinking about anything trivial such as politics. They has got nothing to do with it. I'm thinking about the general people and when they get hurt.

Reporter: How many people who labor in the same musical vineyard in which you toil - how many are protest singers? That is, people who use their music, and use the songs to protest the, uh, social state in which we live today: the matter of war, the matter of crime, or whatever it might be.Bob Dylan: Um...how many?Reporter: Yes. How many?Bob Dylan: Uh, I think there's about, uh...136.Reporter: You say about 136, or you mean exactly 136?Bob Dylan: Uh, it's either 136 or 142.

Press conference in Los Angeles, California (17 December 1965), as seen and heard in No Direction Home.

The first two lines, which rhymed 'kiddin' you' and 'didn't you,' just about knocked me out, and later on, when I got to the jugglers and the chrome horse and the princess on the steeple, it all just about got to be too much.

Sometimes you say things in songs even if there's a small chance of them being true. And sometimes you say things that have nothing to do with the truth of what you want to say and sometimes you say things that everyone knows to be true. Then again, at the same time, you're thinking that the only truth on earth is that there is no truth on it. Whatever you are saying, you're saying in a ricky-tick way. There's never time to reflect. You stitched and pressed and packed and drove, is what you did.

The road out would be treacherous, and I didn’t know where it would lead but I followed it anyway. It was a strange world ahead that would unfold, a thunderhead of a world with jagged lightning edges. Many got it wrong and never did get it right. I went straight into it. It was wide open. One thing for sure, not only was it not run by God, but it wasn’t run by the devil either.

I had ambitions to set out and find, like an odyssey or going home somewhere… set out to find… this home that I’d left a while back and couldn’t remember exactly where it was, but I was on my way there. And encountering what I encountered on the way was how I envisioned it all. I didn’t really have any ambition at all. I was born very far from where I’m supposed to be, and so, I’m on my way home, you know?

He's a pinboy. He also wears suspenders. He's a real person. You know him, but not by that name... I saw him come into the room one night and he looked like a camel. He proceeded to put his eyes in his pocket. I asked this guy who he was and he said, "That's Mr. Jones." Then I asked this cat, "Doesn't he do anything but put his eyes in his pocket?" And he told me, "He puts his nose on the ground." It's all there, it's a true story.

When asked about the meaning of the song "Ballad of a Thin Man" during a 1965 interview.

I read On the Road in maybe 1959. It changed my life like it changed everyone else's.

On the influence of Jack Kerouac on him, as quoted Grasping for the Wind : The Search for Meaning in the 20th Century (2001) by John W. Whitehead

Someone handed me Mexico City Blues in St. Paul [Minnesota] in 1959 and it blew my mind. It was the first poetry that spoke my own language.

On the influence of Jack Kerouac, as quoted in Jack Kerouac (2007) by Alison Behnke, p. 100

It’s not a character like in a book or a movie. He’s not a bus driver. He doesn’t drive a forklift. He’s not a serial killer. It’s me who’s singing that, plain and simple. We shouldn’t confuse singers and performers with actors. Actors will say, “My character this, and my character that.” Like beating a dead horse. Who cares about the character? Just get up and act. You don’t have to explain it to me.

It's peculiar and unnerving in a way to see so many young people walking around with cellphones and iPods in their ears and so wrapped up in media and video games. It robs them of their self-identity. It's a shame to see them so tuned out to real life. Of course they are free to do that, as if that's got anything to do with freedom. The cost of liberty is high, and young people should understand that before they start spending their life with all those gadgets.

There is one thing I know though I'm younger than you
Even Jesus would not forgive what you do

And I hope that you die
And your death'll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand o'er your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead

I got into the driver's seat and drove down 42nd Street in my Cadillac.
Good car to drive after a war.

Half of the people can be part right all of the time,
Some of the people can be all right part of the time,
But all the people can't be all right all the time.
I think Abraham Lincoln said that.I'll let you be in my dreams if I can be in yours.
I said that.

Come gather ’round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown.
And accept it that soon
You’ll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you is worth savin’Then you better start swimmin’ or you’ll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin’.

Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won’t come again
And don’t speak too soon
For the wheel’s still in spin
And there’s no tellin’ who that it’s naming.’
For the loser now will be later to win

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don’t criticize
What you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is rapidly agin'.

Come Congressmen, Senators, please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway, don't block up the hall
For he who gets hurt will be he who has stalled
There’s a battle outside and it's ragin’.

Far between sundown’s finish an’ midnight’s broken toll,
We ducked inside the doorway, thunder crashing.
As majestic bells of bolts struck shadows in the sounds,
Seeming to be the chimes of freedom flashing.
Flashing for the warriors whose strength is not to fight,
Flashing for the refugees on the unarmed road of flight,
An’ for each an’ ev’ry underdog soldier in the night,
An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.

Through the mad mystic hammering of the wild ripping hail,
The sky cracked its poems in naked wonder,
That the clinging of the church bells blew far into the breeze
Leaving only bells of lightning and its thunder
Striking for the gentle, striking for the kind,
Striking for the guardians and protectors of the mind,
An’ the poet and the painter far behind his rightful time
An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.

Go away from my window,
Leave at your own chosen speed,
I'm not the one you want, babe,
I'm not the one you need.
You say you're looking for someone,
Who's never weak but always strong,
To protect you and defend you,
Whether you are right or wrong,
Someone to open each and every door,
But it ain't me, babe,
No, no, no, it ain't me, babe,
It ain't me you're looking for, babe.

Johnny's in the basement
Mixing up the medicine
I'm on the pavement
Thinking about the government
The man in the trenchcoat
Badge out, laid off
Says he's got a bad cough
Wants to get it paid offLook out kid
It's somethin' you did
God knows when
But you're doin' it again

Money doesn't talk, it swears.
Obscenity, who really cares? Propaganda all is phony.

Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fool’s gold mouthpiece the hollow horn
Plays wasted words, proves to warnThat he not busy being born is busy dying.

An' though the rules of the road have been lodged
It's only people's games that you got to dodge

Even the president of the United States sometimes must have to stand naked.

It is not he or she or them or it that you belong to.

Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their marks.
Make everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark.
It's easy to see without looking too far that not much is really sacred.

While others say don't hate nothing at all except hatred

Advertising signs that con you into thinking you are the one
That can do what's never been done,
That can win what's never been wonMeanwhile, life outside goes on all around you

And if my thought-dreams could be seen, they'd probably put my head in a guillotine.
But it's alright, Ma, it's life, and life only.

Although the masters make the rules for the wise men and the fools, I got nothing, Ma, to live up to.

You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothin' to fear
Alone you stand with nobody near
When a trembling distant voice unclear
Startles your sleeping ear to hear
That somebody thinks they really found you.

Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The hand made blade, the child's balloon,
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying.

While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society’s pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he’s in

But I mean no harm nor put fault
On anyone that lives in a vault
But it’s alright, Ma, if I can’t please him

Oh God said to Abraham, Kill me a son.
Abe says, Man, you must be puttin' me on.
God say, No. Abe say, What?
God say, You can do what you want Abe, but
the next time you see me comin' you better run.
Well Abe says, Where do you want this killin' done?
God says, Out on Highway 61.

Yes, I received your letter yesterday
(About the time the door knob broke)
When you asked how I was doing
Was that some kind of joke?
All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, they're quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name
Right now I can't read too good
Don't send me no more letters no
Not unless you mail them
From Desolation Row

Now at midnight all the agents, and the superhuman crew, come out and round up everyone, that knows more then they do.

And Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot fighting in the captain's tower while calypso singers laugh at them and fishermen hold flowers...

May you build a ladder to the stars and climb on every rung. May your song always be sung, May you stay forever young.

May you build a ladder to the stars and climb on every rung. May your song always be sung, May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy. May your feet always be swift. May you have a strong foundation when the winds of changes shift. May your heart always be joyful. May your song always be sung. May you stay forever young.

You're an idiot, babe. It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.

I can't help it if I'm lucky.

Visions of your chestnut mare shoot through my head and are makin' me see stars.

I waited for you on the running boards, near the cypress trees, while the springtime turned slowly into autumn.

Idiot wind, blowing through the buttons of our coats, blowing through the letters that we wrote.
Idiot wind, blowing through the dust upon our shelves,We're idiots, babe. It's a wonder we can even feed ourselves.

It was gravity which pulled us in and destiny which broke us apart

You tamed the lion in my cage but it just wasn't enough to change my heart

Down the highway, down the tracks, down the road to ecstacy,
I followed you beneath the stars, hounded by your memory and all your ragin' glory

You'll never know the hurt I suffer, nor the pain I rise above, and I'll never know the same about you...

I kiss good-bye the howling beast on the borderline which separated you from me.

Backstage the girls were playin' five-card stud by the stairs,
Lily had two queens, she was hopin' for a third to match her pair.
Outside the streets were fillin' up, the window was open wide,
A gentle breeze was blowin', you could feel it from inside.
Lily called another bet and drew up the Jack of Hearts.

If your mem'ry serves you well, we were gonna meet again and wait, so I think I'll just unpack my bags and sit before it gets too late.
No man alive will come to you with another tale to tell, but you know that we shall meet again, if your mem'ry serves you well.

If your memory serves you well, I was gonna confiscate your lace and wrap it up in a sailor's knot and hide it in your case.
And if I knew for sure that it was yours, it was oh so hard to tell, and you know that we shall meet again, if your memory serves you well.

If your memory serves you well, I remember you're the one who called out me to call out them to get your business done.
And after every plan has failed, and there was nothing left to tell, well you knew that we shall meet again if your memory serves you well.

Wheels on fire, rolling down the road, best notify my next of kin, this wheel shall explode!

Have they counted the cost it'll take to bring down all the earthly principles they're gonna have to abandon?

All that foreign oil controlling American soil. Look around you, it's just bound to make you embarrassed: sheiks walking around like kings, wearing fancy jewels and nose rings, deciding America's future from Amsterdam and to Paris.

Man's ego's inflated, his laws are outdated. They don't apply no more. You can't rely no more to be standing around waiting.

Fools glorify themselves, trying to manipulate Satan.

The enemy I see wears a cloak of decency.

People starving and thirsting; grain elevators are bursting. You know, it costs more to store the food than it do to give it.

They talk about a life of brotherly love? Show me someone who knows how to live it.

Freedom just around the corner for you, but with truth so far off, what good will it do?

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread, both of their futures so full of dread.

Shedding off one more layer of skin, keeping one step ahead of the persecutor within.

You go to Sodom and Gomorrah, but what do you care? Ain't nobody there would want to marry your sister.

You look into the fiery furnace, see the rich man without any name.

The book of Leviticus and Deuteronomy, the law of the jungle and the sea are your only teachers.

The rifleman's stalking the sick and the lame; preacherman seeks the same. Who'll get there first is uncertain.

A woman just gave birth to a prince today and dressed him in scarlet. He'll put the priest in his pocket, put the blade to the heat, take the motherless children off the street and place them at the feet of a harlot.

Well, God is in His heaven
And we all want what's his
But power and greed and corruptible seed
Seem to be all that there is
I'm gazing out the window
Of the St. James Hotel
And I know no one can sing the blues
Like Blind Willie McTell

What I wanted to do with Bobby was just to get him to sound in the studio as natural, just as he was in person, and have that extraordinary personality come thru. … After all, he's not a great harmonica player, and he's not a great guitar player, and he's not a great singer. He just happens to be an original. And I just wanted to have that originality come thru.

Dylan is free now to work on his own terms. It would be foolish to predict what he will do next. But hopefully he will remain a mediator, using the language of pop to transcend it. If the gap between past and present continues to widen, such mediation may be crucial. In a communications crisis, the true prophets are the translators.

Ellen Willis, in "Dylan" in Representative Men : Cult Heroes of Our Time (1970) edited by Theodore L. Gross

The minute you try to grab hold of Dylan, he's no longer where he was. He's like a flame: If you try to hold him in your hand you'll surely get burned. Dylan's life of change and constant disappearances and constant transformations makes you yearn to hold him, and to nail him down. And that's why his fan base is so obsessive, so desirous of finding the truth and the absolutes and the answers to him — things that Dylan will never provide and will only frustrate. … Dylan is difficult and mysterious and evasive and frustrating, and it only makes you identify with him all the more as he skirts identity.

"The stage is the only place where I'm happy." But this has its own sadnesses, like so much love. He is the one person who has to be at a Dylan concert and the one person who can't go to a Dylan concert.